


Robert, You, and Food

by Trifoilum



Series: Texting Robert [6]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Communication, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fast Food, Fluff, Food, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pre-Valentine's Day Fluff, Slice of Life, Some discussion of millenial humor in the third chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoilum/pseuds/Trifoilum
Summary: Pineapple on pizzas was just the beginning.(a.k.a : various food-themed oneshots. Should be fluff.)





	1. Oddity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going out with a monster," you whimpered. A monster that made college-era Craig looked like the epitome of good taste.

"Why are we here, again?" asked Robert.

 _The short answer, the one you actually said: "I want chicken nuggets."_  
  
_The long answer, the messy, glorious truth: No matter how old you are, or how developed your tastebud is, sometimes there would be this craving only greasy chicken nuggets could satisfy. Today was one of those days. Add the new menu promotion and that equaled you, taking a special trip to a crowded fast food joint, shamelessly ordering foods that goes beyond the usual convenience-based standards._

"Is there anything else you'd like to add, sir?" asked the cashier, silently assessing the pile of orders on her screen. The silence was pointed, prickly.

So far they consisted a dozen of chicken nuggets, a large french fries, several burgers (guacamole! Sriracha! A premium Wagyu burger that costed almost double the other burgers! Lobster!), and a tall serving of strawberry milkshake. Just in case, you added a glass of Coke.

Robert shared the cashier's judgmental stare; not that you cared. "These are not chicken nuggets."

"They are new. Mostly. Okay, the Wagyu is new, and I want the lobster, and I haven't tried Sriracha, and..."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to finish all these?"

Consider. Having an extra mouth to share meant extra capacity to try  _more._ Besides, the saner part of you did note that yes, these are a lot. So you shook your head while throwing an innocent grin.

Your lover smiled in amusement, then spoke to the cashier. "Just one hot fudge sundae, then."

 

Lunchtime meant the entire building was loud and noisy and smelled of grease and sweat. Finding a specific seat seemed to be an impossibility today, which was why Robert nudged you with the intensity of a hunter. Someone had just cleaned a table and walked away.  It was near the entrance, and therefore very crowded, but beggars couldn't be choosers. 

Both of you walked there, Robert eating the sundae while you balanced a full tray of foods; burgers after burgers on top of the box of nuggets. Immediately as you sat, before there was any time to breath, some unseen children shrieked with an inhumanly high pitch. And then again, and again, and again, and thank all that was holy that the Christiansen children were mostly silent, regardless of however creepy they looked.

"Bless their hearts," said the woman at the neighboring seat, and you nodded in painful agreement. Why did Amanda never sounded like a sci-fi monster? What did they do wrong? What did you do right? How could you impart your dadly advice to these hapless, certainly misguided parents?

Robert didn't even hold back his aggravated frown, the plastic spoon waving as he bit on it. Hopefully it won't snap. "Why the fuck are we eating here again?"

"Because I cannot wait," said yourself while dipping a piece of nugget into the sauce and taking it all in one bite. "Damn, this is good." It was the usual dipping sauce, and the usual chicken nuggets, but damn if it did not feel like a Michelin starred dishes.

Robert was completely nonplussed, playing with his sundae like a toddler. "Imagine the  _peace_."

The freshly fried french fries were full of flavor (read: salt). "Imagine the sad, cold food that doesn't get to be eaten as  the fast food gods intended."

Then Robert took one of the fries and just. Casually dipped it into his sundae. His fudge-covered sundae.

 

The shriek you let out were not loud, but it was just as undignified as the one you just heard. The neighboring woman turned with a furious glare, which.... You quickly shrunk yourself, all red in the face.

The man himself just gave a smirk that said  _gotcha good, huh_. "Imagine being able to freak out freely while we eat."

Okay, so you cared. But more than that-- "Why did you do that?"

"Because it tastes good?" As if proving that wasn't a prank, he dipped two fries inside before eating it. "Sweet and salty, buddy."

"No, I know french fries sometimes goes with ice cream." You had lived with Craig Cahn, after all. "But chocolate?"  
  
"They did it in Japan." He sipped the milkshake.

"They did everything in Japan. They sold horsemeat ice cream."

"You're kidding?"

"I promise you I am not, Robert."

He leaned forward, eyes full of curiosity. "Sounds intriguing. Are they selling them here?"

"It's the exact opposite of intriguing," you argued, making A Face.

"You're calling horsemeat ice cream boring? Unexciting?"

"...Fair."

Completely unbothered by your accusing looks, Robert dipped a nugget into a sundae, and you know everything was doomed. The pineapple pizza was truly just the beginning. 

"I'm going out with a monster," you whimpered. A monster that made college-era Craig looked like the epitome of good taste.

He took a bite, then he dipped the rest into the sundae and offered it forward. "Don't knock it till you tried it, babe. Here."

You let an empathic "No," but the hand was persistent.

"Come on, babe. Trust me." It was cheating, he was using his bedroom voice, all husky and gravelly and the bubbling arousal felt million times more embarrassing than every form of chaos inside this damned building. 

Flustered, face all flushed, you opened your mouth. The aroused part of you couldn't help but note how erotic this might have looked from the outside.

The nugget was..... "....Surprisingly okay. I mean, the sweetness completely dominated the nugget, but--"

"The saltiness is still there. It's really just a meatier salted chocolate."

 

You mulled the flavor. "I can't believe this. I must have been dreaming. This must have been a fever dream due to too much junk food."

"See?" He sounded very pleased. "Don't knock it till you tried it."

"...Okay, but," you huffed, and started unwrapping the Wagyu burger. "If you think I am enthralled by your mad idea, demon, then you are completely mistaken." 

A bite, and you frowned. The taste didn't justify the price. At all.

"Well," The last nugget was dipped into the sundae, then offered to you. "Say ah."

His smirk turned into an unusually childlike grin when you opened your mouth. This would linger on your memories, more than the weirdly tolerable taste of chicken nugget dipped into a fudge sundae, more than the judgmental stares and the chaos and the inhuman shrieks. 

There were still a lot of food left. If he kept smiling like that, it would be a very pleasant lunchtime.

 

If there were any more judgmental stares, well, kindly fuck them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Horsemeat Ice Cream](http://www.icytales.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Ice-cream-Horse-Meat.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Chocolate Fries](https://kotaku.com/mcdonalds-chocolate-french-fries-dont-taste-disgusting-1755137811)


	2. Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah, so that's what it is. You see leather jacket and knives and whiskey and you think there's no way he's supermarket material, he probably just likes going to 7-Eleven and buying meaningless products after another."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW : some hints about Robert's neglectful childhood. Nothing much, just a sentence. Check the end notes if you want to know~
> 
> Also, this references [Trusting Someone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497932/chapters/28453584). If you had read it, this could be seen as an epilogue of sorts. But even if you don't, I think the story can stand on its own.

Today was a very good day. Brilliant blue skies spread freely above Maple Bay. Autumn started baring her fangs a little bit, not deep enough to make one shiver but definitely perfect for hot chocolate, snuggling inside warm blankets, and most importantly staying inside while ignoring the neighbors. Robert Small, having a higher resistance to cold than most people around, took advantage of the weather and spent the entire day hunting. The afternoon was spent cuddling and fooling around and letting the sweet taste of his boyfriend's tongue push away the remaining anxiety after the health scare a few days ago. 

He would gladly continue to enjoy the other man's body if Betsy hadn't pronounced her hunger loudly, bringing them to the present. The dog was circling around his feet, barking for her rightful tithe of sustenance. Meanwhile Robert was staring at the contents of his boyfriend's refrigerator, mouth agape.

White and bottom-mount, it should have been charitably large for an introverted single father and his currently away daughter. Yet it was bursting with so much...  _everything_  that Robert thought the Cahns had hijacked the fridge. Apples, pears, and grapes—all in various shades of light green—filled the crisper on the bottom. Peppers yellow and red, carrots, corns, and stalks of celery were shoved around like makeshift walls. There were too many eggs. The middle shelf in particular was practically on the verge of tumbling down; with onions, potatoes, and tomatoes piled on one side, a mountain of mandarins on the other, and a wall of various leafy greens trying its best to keep them separate and failing. Add tons of boxes and bottles and dozens more odds and ends, and one would be forgiven to wonder how a person could finish all of these.

Maybe two people could, reminded some parts of him with a not insignificant amount of fluttering inside. It had been years since the last time he properly cooked.

"I know, I know. I'm lazy." The owner's shrug was both apologetic and dismissive at the same time. His hair was rumpled from hours of tussling on the bed, and his lips were delectably red and begging to be kissed again. Best of all, he didn't seem to recognize his own state, leaving the sight of a man well loved (nothing raunchy had happened  _yet_ ) for the hunter to indulge.

Looking at where he was right now made Robert smile. He pretended to study the fridge in front of him, but he was smiling. "There's nothing to justify. You like to be prepared for the dystopia that is present day America; big deal." he nudged his boyfriend's shoulder softly.

"I emphatically told you this is not hoarding." A hint of blush began spreading on his cheeks before the younger man buried his face into his hands and covered them.

"I believe you," Robert raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I've told you about my couponing and you didn't judge me back then. Why would I do that to you?"

Judging from the strength of the glare, the younger man was offended Robert dared to make the comparison. "You're not doing anything bad," he said while reaching for one of the many boxes inside the fridge. Opening the lid revealed several strips of grilled chicken breast he had made especially for Betsy. "Not only do you use coupons for survival, which is a perfectly respectable reason for doing a lot of things, the stigmas associated to people who used coupons are just stereotypes from those who didn't know better or extrapolation of the worst cases." The dog took a few analyzing sniff when the plastic box was placed on the floor, decided that it was enough for her palate, and started diving into the box. 

The older man snorted. "Well, I do it for survival," When someone grew up with an alcoholic, largely absent father and virtually zero mother figure, they quickly learned to survive in one way or another, "But people see what they want to see, right?"

"They don't know you. They don't know your life." Carefully, the other man reached out to hold Robert's hand. It was cold as always.

Robert firmly gripped the coldness like it would be gone entirely if he didn't. "So don't call yourself lazy, babe." 

The smile his boyfriend had was tinged with a little bit of edge. "I appreciate it, Robert, but you don't have to put yourself down just because." His words were a little bit dismissive and the longer Robert observed, the more the smile looked shoddily painted, too thin-lipped. "I can't compare myself with you. I have the privilege to choose. I could have restocked my fridge more often. I just don't want to because it's cold. It's different and it's okay. "

How Robert managed to resist the violent urge to shake the younger man's shoulders and told  _him_  not to put himself down, he had no idea.

It was the most aggravating part about being considerate. Shouldering everyone's burden at his own expense, like the world's happiness relied on him suffering quietly without bothering anyone else. And of course the world that deemed niceness more important than happiness would gladly watch him dismiss his own thoughts and actions as unimportant, paint his own concerns as trivial and laughable and  _I'm the one at fault so you really shouldn't worry about it, Robert._

Neither of them knew the reason for the tension but they both knew it was there, slipping all over the room. For a while Robert just watched Betsy gobbling the chicken with gusto, smiling tenderly when her enthusiasm almost made her tip the box. She didn't eat a lot of freshly made food.  _Robert_ didn't eat a lot of freshly made food. After the accident eating was a chore, a reminder of a broken forever ever after and the worthless man he ended up becoming, another proof in the internal list he kept named Why You Are Such A Fucking Failure. The only reason he obeyed his body's needs was just because Val needed a dad. Then he fucked up on that too, and for a long time he reverted back on surviving with whatever didn't upset his stomach. Alcohol became his primary fuel, alternating with aspirin and his guilt to drag himself through his days and nights. 

But that was then, before a helping hand was offered _exactly just like this_ , and everything brought the two of them to this point. Just like how everything of his was accepted without being excused, Robert... really wanted to do the same. He couldn't help noticing new and worrying things about his boyfriend. How brittle his smile could appear, for one. How he could sit still and breathe slowly, as if trying to blend with the surroundings. How helpless he could look.

And so, fighting his urge to be dominant, the older man gently yanked the hand he was holding, bringing the two of them away from Betsy and moving towards the small kitchen counter. He trapped himself inbetween his boyfriend and the counter, clenching his free hand softly around the other's waist to keep him close. "Buddy, we've discussed alcoholism and depression and AIDS and your shopping habits are where you feel shy?"

Despite how the body leaned towards the hunter, there was a slightest turn of his boyfriend's lips, a sourness creeping in. He kept locking his eyes on Betsy, who returned the attention with a single yap before turning around and eating from the other side, showing the two of them her cute little butt. "Well, even I know it's a bit absurd stockpiling these much groceries. Besides, it's just groceries. Nothing big. I accept my idiosyncrasies and..."

That only increased Robert's urge to frown even more. He did  _not_ accept his idiosyncrasies. He made it into a joke and laughed about it. And like the scare, he would let the pain silently wither him from inside. 

"Do you always do this ...before?" asked Robert with a solemn voice, brushing his fingers on cold cheeks. Their body were pressing onto each other now with the other man leaning closer. "Anyone ever laughed about it? Made you feel uncomfortable?" 

"Yeah. And no. Not anyone that matters. Stop thinking about what others think about you, Alex told me, which is true." A pause, and his eyes settled on Robert's, clear and quiet and unmoving. He never talked much about Alex, so it was kind of a surprise. "Everyone is a little bit weird. Everyone has a different standard."

_Not seeing it from the way you talked about yourself, no._

With the lack of visible resistance,  Robert continued nuzzling into the neck and giving light kisses, unwilling to let go.  "Those are good. But also, even if it's unusual, that doesn't mean it's wrong. There's nothing bad about being strange to begin with. Normalcy is fucking overrated." Robert trailed his nose from the neck, moving up to the ear and kissing the spot under it. "And don't belittle your own reasons."

Closing his eyes, a fond sigh slipped from the younger man's lips. If it was another time Robert would be aroused. "When someone goes as far as to push two shopping carts just to avoid going for a second trip, I dare say there's at least some amount of badness." 

_A-ha_. Giving his boyfriend a _see what I mean kind_  of smile, Robert went straight to the point. "When someone pushes themselves to get something he wouldn't get otherwise, I wouldn't call it bad. Dedicated, having balls of steel, determined; maybe even excessive. But not bad."

Something in those words made the younger man backed away, staring at the hunter with intent. What, Robert had no idea. By this time, Betsy had finished all of the chicken and laid beside the box, eyes closing but still within close distance from the two humans. 

Arms now folded, eyebrows arched, Robert leaned on the counter and tilted his head to the side just enough to voice his challenge. "Am I wrong?"

"..No?" The younger man's eyes darted around, and one of his hand hanged mid-air like it was trying to stop Robert from doing anything, and the hunter  _knew_  he was doing something wrong.

"Hey," called Robert. The eyes returned to look at him, this time with a deer-in-the-headlights look and d _ammit, use words_. "I'm sorry if I make you, uh, feel like you shouldn't feel the way you're feeling. It's, uh, not about right or wrong. I just want you to know that it's alright. Whatever you're doing, however you're planning to do it, why you're doing it. The way you kept talking about your shopping feels defensive and.... I want you to not feel bad around me but I guess I'm doing exactly that ain't I. Sorry." By the end of it his words were barely a whisper and he wondered if he had reversed the progress they had made these last few days.

But Robert certainly didn't expect the snort coming out from his boyfriend. Now it was his turn to have that deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Oh God, no. I'm...not feeling bad," said the younger man between giggles loud enough to wake Betsy up. His hands also began waving around. "I mean. I'm...embarrassed, that's probably the best word, but it's more like, I should have been less embarrassed about it? And it's embarrassing? Am I making sense?" 

A long silence spanned between them, Robert trying to parse the convoluted speech his boyfriend was having. "So, in layman's terms, you want to be less embarrassed and you feel— what you're feeling is because you came up short from your expectations."

While nodding, the other man waved his hands even more vigorously. "Exactly. And it doesn't mean you're saying anything uncomfortable-- it doesn't even mean you have anything to do with it. Although I realized that it's been a long time since someone saw my fridge, so maybe that played a part. The last time it was this much was when I was single." The hands stopped and crossed themselves in front of his chest, mirroring Robert's posture.

"Okay, that I can understand. Okay," Robert sniffed and looked away, but his core was full with warmth and relief. 

He didn't say anything that makes his boyfriend uncomfortable.

He hadn't fucked this up.

_Thank God_.

There was a whine coming from Betsy, and she had already closed her eyes when the two humans looked at her. Robert could see the tension on his boyfriend's face melting, leaving space for the private sort of smile to steal his breath away again. "And...you're right. Maybe my idiosyncrasies aren't that bad. I never really thought much about that," said the other man.

Robert let a deep breath and carefully held his boyfriend's face with both hands. "I'm right, I'm wrong, it doesn't matter. We do what we need to survive. What you call idiosyncrasies, I call them habits. Idiosyncrasy just sounds....wrong." He lowered his head so their foreheads were touching. "At least think about that, please?"

"I will." It only took the slightest move to give Robert a small peck. "Thank you, for telling. I apologize for taking your goodwill the wrong way, and I appreciate your explanation of where you're coming from. You've been really good for me."

"Ahh, don't mind it. Fuck, that was so bad." Robert broke into a flustered huff and walked past his boyfriend. His brusque steps woke Betsy, who started circling herself around him. He pretended to be entertained by her antics just to hide how he was grinning like an idiot.

"No way. I like you talking about feelings," teased the younger man.

"Tough luck. You just have to put up with me brooding and grunting and shit," said Robert, a perfect lie, because as uncomfortable as that was, it was better than letting this boyfriend of his suffer in isolation. "But speaking about feelings, you could have asked me to tag along, y'know. 's not like I'm busy these days." 

There, he said it. 

"Can I? I'm fine going alone, but two miserable people are worse than one," said the younger man, face deep in thought.

"I insist," Robert picked up the box from the floor and started washing it, letting the sound of running water fill the silence. "Besides, who's to say I don't enjoy shopping?" Betsy yapped. 

"You don't find it a bother?"

After putting the plastic box aside to dry Robert approached his boyfriend slowly, one deliberate step after another. "Ah, so that's what it is. You see leather jacket and knives and whiskey and you think there's no way he's supermarket material, he probably just likes going to 7-Eleven and buying meaningless products after another." 

The grin on his face was wicked and suggestive, and the younger man laughed from the depths of his belly, so loud and free that Betsy yapped and Robert had to stop to memorize that look, treasure it together deep within his memories. "See? Even Betsy agrees. She said you're gonna have the best shopping experience in your whole life, babe. Fifty percent discount. Buy one get two free.  _Cashbacks_."

His boyfriend was still laughing when he clung onto Robert and slammed his fist into the older man's chest repeatedly, maybe a little longer after that too. "Oh, you stud. Ravish me with your coupons," he wheezed, clinging onto Robert's shoulder with both hands. "I can't hold it anymore, you and your spacious truck. It's like you are made to scratch my deepest itch." Then he paused, processed the words he just said, and laughed even harder. 

As fragile as his smile felt, Robert couldn't find it in him to stop. "Yeah. Gonna fill your fridge to the brim and make you scream from all the savings." Then the next set of words just overflowed from his tongue. "Hell, move some of your food to my fridge. We could use them and that fridge's gotta pull its own weight anyway." 

The laughter dulled into a smile, but that was like saying that a star dimmed into the sun. "Really?"

"Yeah." The more Robert thought about it, the more it made perfect sense. The beers he had been keeping there were cut into a single six-pack. Several jars of condiments, some leftovers and that's it. His fridge was practically empty, almost like a fresh start. "Yeah. We can try cooking if you want to. Proper cooking, not just microwaving takeaways and frying tater tots." He tilted the other man's face him so he could plant a soft kiss. "I'd tell you if it becomes a problem. I promised, didn't I?" 

"You did," hummed the younger man, smiling into the kiss and closing his eyes. "Then I guess I'm going to ask your help next time. And your truck. Oh yes, your beautiful truck. No more playing Tetris in the cab trunk."

"And no more playing Tetris inside your fridge. C'mon, girl, come here," beckoned Robert as he crouched and picked up Betsy like she was a baby. "You, young lady, are going to stay out of the kitchen for a while. Us old men are gonna cook and move shit up and there ain't no way I'm leaving you unsupervised. Capiche?" Betsy delivered a series of rapid barks as a response. "Goddammit, girl. Work with me here." Another bark. "You just ate!"  Bark. "Well it's not my fault  _someone_  doesn't wait before she devours two whole chicken breasts." 

A yap, and the dog slobbered her tongue around her owner's nose. Robert tried to scowl, but who the hell was he kidding, he couldn't say no to her for long. So he quickly handed her to the younger man, rubbing his now-wet nose all over the other's face while he was at it. "Here, you handle her."

The other man swatted Robert's shoulder and wiped the saliva with his sleeve, but he sounded amused. "Okay, I'll take care of her and.... Can you take a look inside the fridge and see what we can make? I'm sure you can make something out of them. Minestrone, some salad, maybe pasta."

"Boring," deadpanned Robert.

"What you call boring, I call them comfortable." His boyfriend waved one of his hands as he walked away, carrying Betsy to his bedroom.

"Have some sense of adventure, rube, there's an entire world of food ahead of us!" shouted Robert back, bristling under the idea of doing something as  _mainstream_  as minestrone. "Fucking minestrone," he muttered under his breath. 

Looking at the fridge with interest after silence reigned the kitchen again, Robert noticed he could take advantage of the overabundance of eggs to make shakshouka instead of minestrone. There was a bundle of basil amongst the bunch of leafy greens and they could make their own pesto if his boyfriend really wanted some pasta. And taking one of the mandarins and tasting it, he found the fruit sweet enough to be eaten alone...  _or_ he could make something interesting with that tanginess. Salsa. Jams. Dressing. Hell, he could dump them together with something else in a stir-fry, with Sriracha added to give some kick.

For a short and glorious moment memories began to appear, of various ways his cooking stayed through his life. From the satisfaction of a dish well-done, various kitchen accidents that now looked funny, to the warmth shared in the dining table; a warmth he never had when young, a warmth he had lost and abandoned, the same warmth spreading from his very core at this moment. 

They all appeared like they were waiting for this exact moment, the thrill of the hunt tempered with the concept Robert always kept during whittling. Unsullied and pure, a compass to guide him forward, reasons to keep living. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hint was simply, "When someone grew up with an alcoholic, largely absent father and virtually zero mother figure, they quickly learned to survive in one way or another,"
> 
> Daringly unbeta'ed, again. Please kindly inform me of grammatical mistakes!
> 
> I initially planned to make a cooking chapter and then things kinda blown up to another direction entirely. I can't believe I make a shopping-themed innuendo. The cooking chapter will probably come after this.
> 
> Also, Robert couponing is my brain's way to make sense of his (seemingly) lack of stable income. He's probably not the jerkass kind of couponer, though-- he knows too well the sufferings of cashiers all over the world.


	3. Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert considered his options-- limitations, really. His muse thrived in limitations; be that the mysteries hiding within nature, the shape of the wood or its grain, or what they had now. As it was the challenge lies exactly at the broth; a good one requires a lot of ingredients and time and Robert was pretty sure there weren't enough of either. So, he only needed to figure out something hearty and filling and _store-bought is fucking fine..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW : some discussions of morbid Millennial humor. See the end note for more.
> 
> ETA 11-Feb : Reordered some things and fixing some grammatical error.

The sky was a still gray, a crossroad between angry black and bright blue. A contrast with the yellow spread across the backyard; a compromise between coolness and warmth.

Robert crossed his legs on the floor of his boyfriend's house, clad only in sweatpants. His energy remained decent even after chasing Betsy all over the backyard. The silence surrounding him was more of an absence; of physical stimuli, of feeling, of ghosts. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to a lot of things. Old habits die hard and years of bitterness and self-loathing couldn't be untangled easily.

Introspection and talking helped. They really did. But the hunter is a hands-on type of guy, who shapes his reality with deeds and actions. So he consciously took charge of his body. Train his muscle to adapt to new environment, one where constant vigilance was unnecessary. Breathe, be present, let the rain wash everything away.

On his lap, Betsy settled herself nicely with this terribly pleased look.

Seconds passed into minutes as relaxed eyes roamed around the backyard, never moving from behind the entrance, letting the passing of time soak his mind. Droplets of rain trickled slowly on the glass door, drawing random patterns across the entire panel. The cherry blossom had completely shed its leaves for winter, leaving its branches at the mercy of the wind. They made a comfortable white noise that was almost hypnotic to listen. 

There was this odd sensation, something Robert couldn't put his fingers on. Like silence... only  _more_. Nothing was happening and the hunter didn't loath it, didn't drive himself crazy as his survival instinct warned him of invisible dangers. He didn't know and couldn't name this feeling, but for some reason that was alright.

That was the position the older man found himself in when the bedroom door creaked open.

"Good mooaaaaaaaaaaahnm," yawned the sleepy boyfriend before occupying his daily throne in the bathroom. That caught Betsy's attention and she jumped away, barking excitedly like she did during a hunt. Not so long after, the door opened again and there was a soft, if tired laughter. "You smell so good. Did Robert clean you up, huh? Did he?" cooed the younger man, holding Betsy in his arms and rocking her like a baby. As much as it was adorable it was also four in the afternoon; worryingly late for the younger man. He'd been sleeping in the morning for three days and Robert had considered calling him Panda just for the hell of it. Except now the younger man turned towards the hunter's position, staggering with half-closed eyes until Betsy was set off on the floor. A pair of arms sneaked around the hunter's waist, clutching the hairs on his chest.

"Mornin', sunshine. Thought you won't be up so fast," whispered Robert. From the pajamas he could note both texture and scent; cotton and fabric softener. Both were soft. Thinking about it, most everything about his boyfriend was soft.

"It's lonely. Thank you for being here this whole time, Robert. I appreciate it." mumbled the younger man before burying his face into the hunter's neck, pulling him closer like a security blanket. For a while everything was quiet and it was not bad. Except something must have clicked inside his boyfriend's head because his entire body tensed in milliseconds, becoming still for however long a realization needed to dawn. "I forgot to lock the back door, didn't I?"

Robert laughed, the kind usually described as laughing at. That explained how Robert had woken up with the sight of his mud-drenched dog, her tiny legs splashing against puddles and opening her mouth for raindrops. "Yeah. Betsy's really happy about it. Say thanks, girl."  

Bark bark. 

Pressing his face on bare skin, the younger man clasped his hands around the hunter's torso in the gentlest lock ever. "Well.. Times like these make me wonder if it's worth it, doing all of this," he murmured between deep breaths. Robert could feel his boyfriend's hair bristling against his shoulder, smelling a little less like vanilla; his temporary schedule spared no time for haircare. 

The schedule always goes like this: an hour of working, followed by fifteen minutes of free time.  On that time span the younger man would untangle the knot in his muscles, refill the mug, or go to the bathroom. Every three or four cycles he would nap or cuddle with Robert for no longer than half an hour, mostly less. Shower happened before dinner. His smartphone was handed over with specific directions to ignore everything but the direst emergencies or Amanda. Sex was irrevocably absent.

Somehow, the fact that this soft-spoken man possessed this intense, single-minded, almost ruthless side didn't come as much of a surprise for Robert. Technically speaking, he had been at the receiving end. Was. Would be. 

His boyfriend continued to inhale him, long and deep and easy, so unlike the controlled breathing of yesterday.He looked tired, sounded tired, yet also relaxed. Unburdened.With each successive breath, their body melted into each other until someone sighed. Could have been either of them; the presence alone was enough to send warmth, the steady rhythm of heartbeat supplying comfort and love. Betsy was laying on the floor beside them, wagging her tongue. Gentle murmurs of rain nestled comfortably in the background.

Butterfly kisses, fluttering and deliberate, landed all across the younger man's forehead. "You decide how much it's worth, but we'll still be here no matter what. Betsy enjoys her time and you gotta do what you need to do. Really, the occasional early shower is nothing." Neither dog nor man would admit it, but what he gave was nothing compared to what he had received. 

A clump of worry unlatched from the hunter's mind, washed away.

He exhaled.

It felt silly--  _was_ silly, but moving would break the magic. So Robert just brought the other man to the most comfortable angle, remaining there until the inevitable moment his boyfriend removed himself. His face was drenched with the need of sleep, and the older man couldn't help giving an amused smile. There were the obvious dark lines under the eyes, yes, but they had actually faded a bit. An improvement.

"So... are you free right now? Anything else to do?" asked the hunter, keeping his tone deliberately open. But his lips was captured instead, a sleepy kiss that never failed to make him feel special. 

The younger man huffed. "At least the muse had done calling, so I'm back to having a proper sleep cycle." 

If that was the call of a muse, then it was one Robert had never met. Not sure he wanted to, honestly. Annoying as it was, Robert enjoyed his phantom of a muse. The fast pace, the thrill going up his back as he uncovered the image sliver by sliver; the hunter couldn't live without these.

Poorly veiled curiosity cloaked the next question. "Do I get to see?"

"Not yet. There's still a lot of revisions." Yeah, Robert wouldn't want to meet this particular muse. Second guessing his work was a recipe for disaster.

"So, wanna go back to bed?" the older man murmured, pressing their bodies closer. Even with the central heating this wasn't exactly the best place and pose to sleep.

He received a long whining of discontent, instead. " _Food._ " 

Betsy yapped a few times, as if supporting the notion, and Robert rolled his eyes. "Welcome back to the living world then, buddy. Am gonna cook now," greeted the hunter. "Want anything that includes chicken? I'm in the middle of pampering this spoiled girl."

The sleepy man dropped his head on the hunter's shoulder, giggling. Another long inhale, exhale, and he finally pulled away for good. "I have no idea. Maybe.... something warm and broth-like? What about you?"

"Let me hold the reins and I'm sure we can come to an agreement." said Robert while getting up.

"Okay, but let me help," said the other man, idle hand holding on the hunter as he stood.

The kitchen was just a few steps away and they immediately saw that the sink was filled with used mugs. Once, they contained something between three choices: sweetened coffee that might have been strengthened with butter, lemon ginger tea, or, when the younger man needed a power nap, hot chocolate with marshmallows. An empty coffee pot stood ready on the acrylic top.

Robert directed his frown somewhere else; the fridge hadn't been restocked. There were no leafy vegetables left, for one, and some of the carrots were slightly blackened around the edges. A few eggs were placed in a small bowl alongside a carton of soy milk almost past its expiry date. Another carton of sodium-free broth stood beside them, practically untouched. "Whew. Lucky that your freezer still has some meat. Otherwise, I can only make you some… I don't know, kickass ramen, if you still have any."

Sounds of the faucet started drowning out the rain as the younger man rinsed out the mugs. A corner of his lips curled up in a serene smile. "I went to college, Robert. Instant ramen was my god once," an unspoken  _duh_ lurking in the tone. "My body cannot keep up with my mind; I learned to maximize my output this way."

While his boyfriend continued washing the mugs, Robert considered his options-- limitations, really. His muse thrived in limitations; be that the mysteries hiding within nature, the shape of the wood or its grain, or what they had now. As it was the challenge lies exactly at the broth; a good one requires a lot of ingredients and time and Robert was pretty sure there weren't enough of either. So, he only needed to figure out something hearty and filling and  _store-bought is fucking fine_... "Oh. Congee," exclaimed Robert all the sudden. Porridges only needed to be loaded. And Betsy did want chicken. Win-win.

"I'm fine with that. Too bad we don't have any century eggs," commented his boyfriend before he continued scrubbing the mugs with a sponge. There was a glint in his eyes, softness in his voice. 

 _We._  "No, b--but we do have eggs. Just the usual ones."

"Well, I'm sure we can find something to do with it." The sound of running water was replaced by clinking mugs. Sleep-deprived eyes wandered around the kitchen until they centered back on the hunter. "Should we, then?"

Robert started pulling various things out with the efficiency of a man with a mission. A various set of boneless chicken was followed by a box of frozen rice. The broth, imperfect but enough. Garlic, shallot, a bit of ginger; dumped later after Betsy received her chicken. Peel them, and cut into large chunks to be --  _hmm_.  _A congee definitely needs some crunch_. "Hey, got any plans for the garlic?"

Drying his hands on his own pajamas, the younger man proceeded to take out a green cooking pot that looked at least a decade old. "Not really. Why?" Enough water was added to cover the meat. For a nice poached chicken, turn the heat off once it reached the boiling point and wait twenty to twenty five minutes with the lid on.

With the okay, Robert grabbed a handful more of those and yeah, sure, the shallots too. "So you won't mind if I use 'em. Gonna slice 'em thin and fry 'em with a little bit of oil. Makes a real good crunch, the skin goes to the broth, and we can use the oil too."

"That way we don't make any waste." The hunter wasn't expecting his boyfriend's eyes to sparkle with admiration. "It's very resourceful of you, Robert."

Robert snickered. Everything felt smooth and pleasant, like they had been doing this for years, like he had never stopped cooking. That realization latched into the odd sensation he'd been feeling, making it warm and safe and steady; familiar attachments surrounding a mystery.

Muscle memory recalled all the lessons he had learned throughout the years. Curl the fingers into a claw and tuck the knuckles underneath to avoid accidentally cutting anything. Cut a vegetable in half lengthwise to add more stability. Use the flat of the knife to press on a garlic and remove the skin without much hassle. Keep the tip in constant contact with the cutting board and use the knife's full length to glide across in a circular motion, just like old train wheels, and slicing things became easier. And never hesitate; concentrate. It was the same with all knives, combat or chef or carving.

With each careful breaths the hunter narrowed his focus. Thin strips of garlic and shallots were collected in a bowl, ready to be fried. The skins were gathered inside another bowl, with a fragment of ginger placed on top. 

Afterwards, Robert started washing the intense smell of garlic away, occasionally rubbing his hands to the stainless steel sink. "I think we can take Betsy's portion out. Wanna do the honors?"

"Sure. I'm going to get my phone too." His boyfriend picked one of the chicken with a fork.  The meat was still juicy and tender as it was cut and placed into a metallic food bowl. 

Judging from the sounds Betsy made, she was hopping around. Judging from his boyfriend's laughter, she was happy. The savory scent of the broth had started filling the kitchen, and after he dumped the skins inside, there was nowhere else to go but up. The boxed broth would be added with the rice, and their chickens would be chopped into little chunks, so it would be better to keep them inside and enhance the broth as long as they could.  

Set the heat back on low and wait. 

Giggles and notification pings accompanied the younger man as he returned to the kitchen, deft fingers tapping the screen before ending in an annoyed snort. "Amanda says hi, by the way. Quote unquote,  _thank you for making sure that I'm not orphaned so early in life,_ " he said with a horrible approximation of his daughter's voice. "It isn't serious, right?" 

Robert snorted. "Gallows humor, buddy. Come on, you're not that old." 

"I swear I'm getting too old. All these young people are bringing black comedy to a whole new level, what with the casually wanting to die and nonerotic asphyxiation and those nihilist memes." The younger man put his smartphone away and picked up large chunks of chicken, white and slightly hard by now. Apparently he preferred them shredded, because he used two forks to tear the meat into thin strands, occasionally taking a bit or two for himself. "I haven't even figured out what makes a meme and boom, turns out my daughter's peers are depressed and borderline suicidal and apparently those were jokes but also not entirely a joke. A coping mechanism coupled with self-commiseration and a plea for help. My head hurts."

Robert placed a frying pan and poured canola oil into it. After turning the heat on, he pulled out a small strainer and started skimming the layer of fat and scum inside the pot. "Eh, I think you did get the gist. Except, what the hell is non-erotic asphyxiation?"

The forks stopped clinking with each other. The younger man's face started to redden, and the chicken he was tearing apart suddenly became the focus of his glare. His mouth gaped open and close a few times until the words were let out in a shameful whisper. "..... _choke me daddy_."

Robert laughed and laughed and  _holy fuck he needed to step away from the heat._  "That was  _not_  non-erotic, buddy!"

A gasp. "That wasn't? Oh crap I thought they are joking about wanting their imaginary sugar daddies snapping their spines in two and choking them to death.......wait. Those are imaginary sugar daddies, right? Not, like, actual sugar daddies? Or....their actual dads?" By the end the younger man was speaking in whimpers and Robert guffawed even louder.

"Ask your daughter," he managed to wheeze.

"No way in hell!" A fork stabbed something hard and the bowl and its contents rattled on the acrylic top.

Robert poured the garlic and shallots into the bubbling oil, and the loud sizzle blurred with the sound of rain outside. "Ask Val, then. Am sure she'll gladly tell you," regardless of how much fun she would have during the process. On that aspect, she was a hundred percent his daughter. Marilyn's. And the fact that he could make both thoughts without aching started sinking in, and the hunter felt so damned light and warm. "'s fine if you know shit about this, buddy. You're still a real cool dad."

"...You're not that bad of a dad yourself, Robert," murmured the younger man, trying to hold off a smile. A bowl full of shredded chicken was placed beside the frozen rice, the strainer was taken from Robert and he began taking out the wilted skins. Steam had begun to rise from the pot, filling the space with a pleasant aroma.

"Ouch, way to hurt my ego. I take pride on that label, y'know."

"Really? Then you're truly the baddest dad I know. Badder than, uh--" A pause, and it was the younger man's turn to burst into laughter. "No, I can't. This is so--  _pfft_."

"You should really learn how to flirt, babe." Anytime soon the little chips would turn golden brown and Robert only had a little window to move. Transfer them to a paper towel-lined plate to dry. Then fry them again for a few seconds until crispy and well-browned, and he was done. Even now the aroma was divine and he was glad there would be a lot of it to snack later on.

Once the broth was clear, it was time for the chicken and rice to soak inside. Soy sauce, white pepper, just a dash of sesame oil, and the boxed broth to adjust the overall taste and texture. Wait until the rice had softened to the desired texture, which, judging from the way his boyfriend kept stealing a taste, meant sooner than later. Lastly, three eggs were whisked and stirred into the broth until they turned into translucent ribbons, and they were done. 

Half past six. Apparently they ended up making dinner. 

The two men sat near the back entrance again, with a bowl of congee sitting on each lap. Two mugs of white tea were sitting on the floor, facing the glass panels like offerings to the weather outside. As improper as it was, the congee was a mission accomplished. 

A sip, and the younger man let a moan that sounded borderline orgasmic. "Oh my god this is so good and warm. And these fried garlic were just-- mmmmmmmmh. I'm gonna get more and you can't stop me."

Robert grinned. Having a proper meal was in itself something to feel grateful about, much less one they made together. The rice was still grainy and they provided a nice bridge between the soft egg and chickens. The scent of the broth was strange to the older man; neither fresh like the one he used to make from scratch, nor was it the artificial aroma of instant ramen, a constant companion of his troubled youth. It was an undeniably new memory and Robert liked it. The fact that his muse ended up making it better was a cherry on top. Or, in this case, a small mountain of crispy garlic and shallots on top. 

For a while, there were no sounds other than loud slurping and spoons hitting bowls, metal clinking into ceramics. Betsy kept circling around them, little rustles blending with the pitter-patter of rain outside, tongue wagging in an unsubtle gambit to get more food until Robert commanded her to stay still, and now she was rolling on the floor. Being cute. Unsubtle. The silence was neither a depressing silence Robert was used to, nor was it the hectic and lively affair he always had with Marilyn and Val. 

After a second serving and a separate snacking of the crispy garlic, they were sitting beside each other. Himself, clad only in sweatpants. His boyfriend, clad in pajamas that absently skewed a little bit to show shoulder. The fabric was soft and worn, warmer than his boyfriend's skin and, dare he say it, familiar. Even now the white tea was too faint to smell; maybe sencha or tieguanyin would be better next time. And  _next time_ , because there will be a next time, they would make a more proper congee, with fried  _youtiao_  and century eggs and zero store-bought broths.

A clump of worry unlatched from the hunter's mind, washed away.

He exhaled.

"Thanks, buddy," admitted Robert, knowing that for once he wasn't in danger from revealing too much of himself. "You're basically responsible for all of this."

The younger man scoffed, "If I have enough brain power there would be a list on why that was bollocks." As expected. And perhaps true. The older man did choose to accept that outstretched hand. "But now, all I can say is that you are also responsible for all of this, and for that, I should be the one thanking you."

They faced each other. Robert's body pressed into his boyfriend, hands holding his back still, and the other man raised his hands to caress Robert's stubble. His boyfriend's eyes were full of life and gratitude. His hair was a mess that would have been sticking out everywhere if it hadn't been sorted out before, and Robert let a chuckle at that. Their noses were rubbing each other now, and both of them were practically breathing garlic, but whatever. Kissing was as easy as closing the distance between them; without urgency, the hunter eased closer and slid his tongue in, teasing its other half inside for a dance.

It wasn't exactly the best kiss, but he filed the moment all the same. Everything was different than what he used to get, what he used to  _believe_  he deserved to get. 

"Okay," the other man spoke first, separating slightly. "as much as I want to continue, I'll clean up the kitchen first. Besides, we need to get these garlic out of our breath."

"Need a help?"

"I doubt I can hold myself back with you there, so no thanks." There was another kiss from his boyfriend before he freed himself and picked the bowls. His lips were curling up in a manner that suggested he was more pleased than teasing. "Because then our face will smell like garlic and then everyone suffers."

And Robert was left with Betsy again, holding his smartphone and looking at today's pictures. A particular picture showed the dog floating in a tub full of water, with foam on top of her head and huge eyes looking straight at the lens. Five seconds after this was taken she almost charged the phone but, at this moment in time, the dog looked cute and obedient instead of the tiny hurricane she had been. A few taps to correct the picture and off it went. To Val, Amanda, and her father.

A notification pinged faintly in the kitchen.

The rain grew stronger and stronger. Judging from the rumbling clouds, it would continue until tomorrow and that meant staying inside, only with no muse to pursue. 

Surprisingly, Val replied first. A single heart emoji, which was more than what Robert could have expected. Amanda replied a few minutes after in strings of impassionate random letters, followed by more hearts than he could ever find. Purple, green, yellow, red, blue, pink. Glittered ones. Two hearts circling each other. Robert chuckled, and proceeded to send more pictures to her.

Then the last reply came when the kitchen was silent. It was simple but they seeped into Robert's heart so easily, impervious from all these mistakes of his, untroubled by guilt and shame.

**Aw, that was so cute. I love you.**

Emotions choking off his voice, his fingers moved fast, tapping a reply to be delivered barely several feet away from him.

_buddy_

_come back to bed and i'll show how much i love you_

_intensely and_   _repeatedly_

_or maybe i'll go there instead_

Robert could just imagine the scene; his boyfriend in the kitchen, groaning and trying to think of a proper reply. He would wipe his hands on a paper towel, grab the carton of soy milk from the fridge and drink it straight from the box while gazing at the backyard from a small window in his kitchen, the same backyard the hunter was looking at the moment, the same cherry tree, the same sky.

He finally knew what the odd sensation was.  _Peace._  He could get used to this. He really could. What on earth did he ever do to deserve this?

That question, too, was washed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I don't know how it comes there, but Dadsona and Robert discussed the Millennial brand of nihilistic humor ( _choke me daddy, kill me now_ ) and..it fits. So It stays.
> 
> Omg writing a cooking chapter is hard. I started with the idea that they were going to make Chinese version of congee but I think this ends up more like a [zosui](https://gekiuma.wordpress.com/2012/12/15/%E3%81%8A%E7%B2%A5-japanese-soupy-rice-porridge-for-colds-unhappy-tummies/).
> 
> Also, this is a chapter where I have to hint some of Dadsona's character and I'm so sorry if your Dadsona doesn't fit what I'm writing ._. (my Dadsona was, technically speaking, a writer)
> 
> The part about Robert's knife skills was helped by [this article!](http://www.seriouseats.com/2014/05/draftknife-skills-the-three-basic-knife-cuts.html)
> 
> Also, unbetaed, as usual. Feel free to point out any mistakes you're finding~


	4. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Robert, do _you_ want to do anything for Valentine's Day?"
> 
> " _No._ " He put the knife you gave him for Christmas on the cloth-protected floor, joined by his current work, an imposing lump of basswood that was halfway taking its final form. "But I don't know if you do. I don't know if you did."
> 
> Well well. That certainly snapped your mind back quick enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Valentine, peeps!
> 
> This is a two-parter; consider this one a..pre-Valentine chapter? Now, gotta work on the actual Valentine Fluff, Hopefully I can finish it before, say, April.
> 
> Also, there's a bit of a timeskip-- between autumn to winter (February, no less). Some things here alluded to Christmas, most of which can be read in the end notes. (nothing big, I promise)

From the first time you saw him, it is always a delight to watch Robert whittling.

Every single pain plaguing the older man dissolved during that short window and the world narrowed until nothing was left but the wood and  _him;_ a man of focus and passion so intense it burned. His eyebrows would knit themselves together while the knife moved ever so patiently, peeling chips of wood with a careful drag of his strong arms. Sometimes he would stick his tongue out or let his lips curved up, filled to the brim with childlike satisfaction. No words would be spoken at this point; instead there were lots of little, automatic noises as his broad shoulders hunched, all sorts of  _tsks_ and  _hmms_ and curse-free grunts. The scraping was so quiet and rhythmic that Betsy hadn't woken up from her sleep. 

Was it different from your old yearning? No; he was still a glorious sight, filled with enough heat to dry your throat, a hunger that would never be satiated. But the hunger no longer stood on shaky grounds. You were given an implicit consent to see him in such a state, witnessing none of his usual defenses or alertness. It was too much, so sigh, very swoon.

Therefore, what a horrible interruption. "Lemme ask this straight, buddy; got anything to do in February 14th?" asked Robert, his eyes still fixed at the basswood in his hand. 

Given the naughty little mission you were into, it felt very... tense; to the point that your mind provided an unhelpfully loud (and appropriate?)  _DUN DUN DUN._  "Not really. If you're talking about Valentine's Day, these days I'm more excited for the fifteenth," you answered dismissively, hopefully enough to hide the way you shifted on his sofa. Angling for the perfect vantage point was hard enough. But why didn't he return to his work, in fact he looked so serious and—  _Oh._

"Robert, do  _you_  want to do anything for Valentine's Day?"

" _No."_ He put the knife you gave him for Christmas on the cloth-protected floor, joined by his current work, an imposing lump of basswood that was halfway taking its final form. "But I don't know if you do. I don't know if you did."

Well well. That certainly snapped your mind back quick enough. 

"I used to celebrate with Alex." Closed eyes, even breaths, relax. "But Alex just liked celebration. We even celebrated Black Day when we read about it despite not being single or Korean, all for a bowl of  _jajangmyeon_. " The memory—your sense of repulsion towards the pungency, the contrast between its stickiness and savory taste, your laughter upon seeing each other's blackened teeth—had long stopped being painful, replaced by a distant acceptance and cold, hard facts. Regardless of what happened, time only moves forward.

"What about now?" 

You opened your eyes and noticed that the older man was looking to your side. Following his eyes leaded you to Betsy, still burrowed in her small bed, semi-clutching a soft blanket Amanda bought for her as a Christmas gift. "I haven't done any, yes, but I don't necessarily need to celebrate it. What about you?"

"Never did that. Not with Marilyn, not with...anyone else. I don't like that day,"

"Then we don't have to do anything," you offered, giving a smile that you realized was a bit half-hearted.

Which, in retrospect, was clearly the wrong answer when his face so quickly soured, you might as well told him you wanted to roast Betsy in an open fire. " _You_  don't have to put yourself down just because, buddy." It was a tad melodramatic and your subconscious already loaded some petty defenses to sling when the conscious mind noticed how familiar his words were. Yours.

More insights bubbled up. Sometimes people would diminish their own worth just so the other party would remain happy. The thoughts kept bubbling and bubbling before they collapsed into a tired laughter. "Oh God. I'm so stupid," you groaned, recognizing how hell is full of highways made out of good intentions. "I don't know what are you thinking but honestly, I can suspect the gist of it, and if I ever suggested not celebrating Valentine's for your sake then I apologize. That is not the case now," you spoke slowly.

"Really," Robert only said. Penetrating eyes were back to form, gauging, waiting, observing for signs of danger, and you let them scrutinize you.

"Am I not the one asking you to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together?" you asked, waving an eager hand for him to come. 

His steps were careful the way a lurking wolf was careful, but there were no resistance. Ultimately he approached the same sofa you were sprawled on, at first sitting on the edge then hovering awkwardly above you when you kept tugging him closer. Both of his arms were trapping your head, and his eyes bore a tinge of melancholy. 

 _He was thinking about you and you almost attacked him over it._  "Look, the way I see it, forcing either of us to celebrate Valentine's Day defeats the purpose. I'm not that much of a fan to think about compromising in the first place," you elaborated, cupping both his jaw and feeling his stubbly cheeks.

"Really." Robert's lips thinned into a nervous line and he spoke in a voice evoking images of broken glasses. "So it's not, for you. Important."

Holding his jaw, your fingers started wiping a faint bit of sweat appearing on his face. You couldn't hold the pained smile from appearing. "I'll tell you about it if something is important for me, how about that?"

Robert huffed, holding your face like he was trying to massage them and apparently you were tense, too. "Before, you got Amanda to think about. Now she's back in college again and it's just us two." He pressed his cold forehead onto yours, like one would lean against a pillar.

Now that he was incredibly close, you could see his face softening and feel the tension leaking from his body. In turn, your entire body seemed to sink into the sofa with a relieved exhale. "Honestly, it wasn't the fourteenth I was thinking about right now." Your sock-covered toes wiggled around his bare ones and he returned the gesture, scratching the wool with his too long (and honestly rather disgusting) toenails. 

"So you said. What happens during the fifteenth?"

You gave his forehead a small peck. "Post-Valentine discount, Mr. Small. Even saved a few recipes to try."

At this, the older man finally laughed; a gravelly sound that burned straight to your chest. "Seriously.  _Seriously?_   _Seri-fucking-ous-ly?_ "

You scoffed in a tone that could be described as mock-offended. "Oh, keep that and see if I give you any, Bobert."

"Really." This time, there was a grin on Robert's face and his words sounded playful. Teasing. "Guess it's gonna be chocolate for a while, huh."

"For me, yes," you humphed, half-grinning. "For you, who knows. You seem to find it a joke."

"Oooooh, someone's angry," drawled Robert, not at all bothered by the words. It was now that your body registered how Robert had pressed his body down on you; the pressure of his body was grounding, his warmth comfortable. "Can I do anything to, y'know, apologize?"

You took a long inhale, breathing his scent, sweet and earthy and musky with a hint of basswood lingering around him.  _It's going to be alright._ "Come with me?"

A soft giggle let itself out from your throat, blooming into a full-blown smile when Robert snorted in reply. "Obviously. Although," without moving much, Robert's lips were ghosting over yours, dry and rough and so ridiculously tempting. "Just making sure, are we still talking about chocolate? Because if we're talking about the other kind of coming I'm up for it right now. Very,  _very_  up, if you know what I mean." 

In emphasis, his hips was grinding against yours and you playfully claimed his lips, arching as you returned the gesture and—

"Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!"

....Betsy woke up.  Robert's groan was louder than yours for so many reasons, one of which was that she immediately dashed across the spot he had been sitting on, scattering wood chips everywhere and almost knocking his work off. "You just ate, girl." Betsy restlessly hopped left and right, looking at the two of you and panting like she was waiting for something. Bark. "What? No. I just took you out before that." A long sequence of barking. "Well of course you can't go far. Everywhere's covered with fucking snow for fuck's sake." A bark, and a whine. "Oh, don't you give me that face, girl."

"Don't be a meanie, take her out again," you said, giving him a final peck. "I'll still be here when you return."

"Promise?" he whispered. 

"Promise," you said, much more certain. Of course, so much for your naughty little mission, but the detour and what you managed to learn was worth the price. 

You closed your eyes and hoped that this would be the end of it.

================

That was  _not_  the end of it, judging from the message you just received in the middle of February 14th. It was strangely neat and flowery for Robert.

 

_'Dearest love of mine, be my Valentine and visit my house at 6?'_

**'I thought we're not doing anything today?'**

_'tru'_

_'we're not'_

_'just wanna meet you'_

_'r u free'_

  **'The other option is to freak out and obsess myself over the news. So yes, I am. Should I just come over now?'**

_'no'_

**'...Is there a surprise, Robert?'**

_'buddy'_

_'it's not a surprise if u get to know'_

_'but no'_

_'no surprise'_

_'just walking betsy atm'_

**'Okay. A bit suspicious but..okay..'**

_'buddy'_

_'babe'_

_'dearest neighbor and boyfriend of mine'_

_'chill'_

_'just bring urself and dress casually'_

_'VERY casual'_

_'swear I had nothing terrible in mind'_

_'well okay no'_

_'thats bullshit'_

_'but_   _the only terrible thing i had in mind now is what im gonna do to u after that'_

_'if u don't mind'_

_';)'_

_'what'_

_'do you want me to plan something?'_

  **'No, but forgive me if I found this rather...suspicious.'**

_'nah'_

_'apology taken'_

_'just come over here at 6'_

 

Okay, so, that was not the end of it, but what exactly did Robert have in mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Christmas. Basically it was about gift; Dadsona gave Robert a whittling knife, while Amanda bought Betsy a soft blanket. Also, it was hinted here, but I wrote Dadsona as someone who doesn't really like surprises.
> 
> [Black Day and jajangmyeon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Day_\(South_Korea\))
> 
> ETA: WELL GUESS WHAT THIS FIC IS CANCELED. Well not really-- it just got updated and rereleased as [February 14th](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535288/chapters/33583983) because the more I wrote about this the less food-related the fic becomes.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed; the plot bunny gnaws again.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed ! <3


End file.
